Learning to Fly
by Blue-Inked Frost
Summary: A Tangled Web. Gay and Roger, following the end of the novel. Gay/Roger, Donna/Peter, sap. Written for Yuletide 2008 for Willow Smith.


Thanks to kind people at little_details for their help. All inaccuracies are entirely my own, and earnestly apologized for.

--

_"One _does_ get the moon sometimes."_

--

Gay had always rather liked her third cousin Donna Dark. Her dark widow's peak and life touched by tragedy had struck the schoolgirl Gay as the most romantic thing in the world, and as a young woman Donna had always been kind--and easier to approach than the golden Virginia. Gay had one dim, pleasant memory of Donna supplying her with a delicious lump of barley-sugar to comfort her at one of Aunt Becky's lengthy clan gatherings.

Therefore the brief return of a bronzed Donna and her husband from photographing lions in Africa was hardly unwelcomed by Mrs Gay Penhallow. Her darling Roger (she was fond of attaching some affectionate prefix to his name, though three-and-a-half years of marriage had added a trace of humour to the genuine sentiment) of course had seconded her invitation to them. How like a staid matron Gay thought she was behaving, bustling to make the tea, blackberry preserves in delightfully old-fashioned plates given by Joscelyn and Hugh Dark on her wedding-day.

"Africa--the photography's been..."

"Oh, we found lions all right." Peter's laughter and expansive gestures were well-suited to the country he'd travelled from; beside him, Donna was beautiful with her neatly-bobbed hair, glowing and animated. Gay thought that they stood out like a pair of wild-grown lotuses in a field of daisies within her cosy kitchen and fussy, pretty objects; their exoticism lacked Nan Margoldsby's wish to make other things seem shabby, but instead widened and improved their setting.

"Saw the photos..." Two local periodicals had shown pictures included in the collection that had made its way into some of the foremost naturalism journals; certain examples of Donna's attire had caused a minor clan scandal. Drowned John had reportedly boomed an extensive opinion while drunk, and had lavishly welcomed his daughter and son-in-law just four days ago.

"It's splendid," Gay said. "Changing human knowledge..." She did not intend to sound pompous. "The photographs are wonderful. Out in the bush..."

"It _is_ wonderful," Donna said. "I've changed--out there. You learn to feel alive...I've been chased by hyenas..." She broke off with a laugh. "And now we're here for a brief visit--and then I've been urging Afghanistan, while Peter plumps for the Amazon basin. Perhaps we'll throw a coin." Gay had easily realized their reason for returning home; Peter was brazen over it.

"Frankly, old fellow--we're planning on our first," (he did not gesture to Donna's midsection), "and we'd rather it come into the world on native shores. I..." He seemed nervous--the first time Gay had ever seen Peter Penhallow nervous, and Donna spoke reassuringly.

"Peter's set on a Canadian doctor, Roger. If you..."

"Delighted," Roger said heartily. Traditionally in the Dark and Penhallow clans, Aunty But was sent for, the clan doctor a useful second. It made Gay happier when her husband was away on such cases than any other. Life being given rather than taken was more pleasant to attend to; she knew intimately Roger's feelings whenever a patient was lost, and was glad for these cases to encourage him.

"That's settled," Donna said. "Gay, you look well--I'm sorry we didn't make it to the wedding!" She and Peter had already left at that time, of course--Gay kept a painted giraffe they'd sent as a gift next to her fireplace. She knew Roger had been a confidante of Peter's in the wooing of Donna Dark, and most likely the reverse.

"I'm glad we were able to welcome you back," Gay said. This was especially true because of words Roger had spoken to her this morning; and yet Peter and Donna's presences were causing her to consider it in warmer light. She asked another question about Donna's travels; Donna replied with a warm anecdote, and gaily spoke a few flowing sentences of the language she'd spoken there--Gay hardly understood the name of it. She imagined a picture of African hunters following the same lions as Donna and Peter; perhaps that was the gist of what Donna meant.

Peter was talking to Roger--Roger must have said something about their method of transport, Peter's aeroplane. (It had also been an important source of conversation since Peter and Donna had returned.) "It's over in Amos's field...I 'phoned ahead for likely landing spots. Or rather Donna prompted me..." The two exchanged a fond glance; Donna's hands were both resting on the tablecloth, but the gesture was exactly like Gay's and Roger's occasional habit of a surreptitious hand-grasp. "Care to go for a spin, you and Gay? I'd lend it to you..."

"No, I don't think I will," Roger said.

Roger's war, Gay remembered--she hadn't properly known her cousin at that time, only that people were very proud of him; and his eyes were sadder back then, though she hadn't yet had the ability to know that. She knew he'd never flown since; one of his old comrades from the war who now flew for a living, Will Drover, had said it outright.

"Gay, would you like to come out?" Peter asked; Roger gave her an encouraging twist of his lip (and a very kissable one, if they had been alone).

"In the aeroplane?"

"Yes--I've a full tank, and for now nowhere to go. Donna will tell you it's a safe machine--"

"Very reliable." Donna did _not_ snort with her husband--the cousin Gay knew was very ladylike.

"Donna watched it being flown--last year in March I happened to have a sprained wrist for reasons I won't belabour, and it fell to her to pilot us back to camp. Three barrel rolls--sounds like the whole thing was falling apart around us--and an instant later we're safe on the ground. The same machine's survived both of us."

"I've improved since then," Donna said, smiling; Gay supposed it was useful for both of them to be able to transport themselves, when they were both out in the bush like that.

"Yes," Gay said.

--

Gay Penhallow hadn't known Peter very well before; her distant cousin (Uncle Pippin would know their exact relation) now felt like a friend she'd long had. He had--oh, it was amazing. Of course she had never been in an aircraft before; and she was surprised at her own daring. Everyone would know the doctor's wife had entrusted life and limb to Peter Penhallow; Mercy Penhallow would recall a hundred relatives who had died in crashes; William Y. would look disapprovingly at her--Gay Penhallow could not care less. Like a fairground ride, but much more than that; she loved feeling the ground fall away, was astounded to stare into the clear sky and feel her hair loose about her face. This was adventure the doctor's wife had never had. Gay whooped--indeed, abandoned dignity for jubilation--as Peter performed a moderately daring turn. Peter Penhallow silently thought that Roger's girl had more spirit than he'd expected, and looked forward to the time when Donna would rejoin him in the cockpit.

_Roger, was this..._ Gay thought that she might understand a little.

Donna was waiting as Peter landed again in Amos's fallow field; she waved cheerily, supporting her frame carefully with one hand. Donna had the only thing Gay felt her marriage yet lacked; Gay felt nothing but happiness for Donna, especially at that moment.

"How was..." Roger read the answer in her eyes.

"It was splendid, Peter." Gay beamed. The words weren't enough to express it; Roger changed his stance to be closer to her, and she felt he divined exactly the exultation she felt. "Roger..."

--

Roger had been happy coming to her that morning, after the post had arrived. A chance for medical research in St John's, two years while Jones from across the bay took up the practice in Roger's stead; it would mean departure from clan and Rose River in just five months' time. Gay was thrilled for him at the moment of receiving the news; but to be far away from family, to leave their delightful home--Gay's initial elation had given way to these concerns, and she knew Roger had seen it in her face. He had said that he could choose to turn it down, mentioning Cousin Margaret's boy Brian's recent recovery from a bad fever and Crosby Penhallow's occasional rheumatic pain as reasons to stay; but Brian was returned to health and heading his class at school, as Margaret would quietly--never boastfully!--mention, and the nights Crosby's flute did not ring out with Erasmus Dark's were rare. Gay had thought that she would encourage Roger and feign a lack of reluctance; she decided to do better than that.

"Roger darling--have you written the acceptance to the Institute yet?"

"Considering it; I thought that you mightn't appreciate the disruption. How about it, Gay?"

"A change," she said, smiling at him.

Donna's and Peter's boy, christened the outlandish name of Magellan, was born safely and abandoned Rose River with his parents three weeks following his nativity; a quarter of a year later found Gay Penhallow settled in a new domestic establishment, to which she was still placing the finishing touches in creating a home.

--

St John's benefits were numerous; a pleasant and varied society, though no less complex than their home folk; Roger's happiness in work he loved; the wholehearted interest Gay took in their stay. Roger's comrade Will Drover, working as a flight instructor on a landing-strip not far from the city, had given them most helpful advice. More shallow benefits included a darling new gown she had only just purchased--soft and satiny, a delicate flounce and slender sleeves, pale gold in colour. Gay was honest with herself; she knew it suited her colouring well, and made her figure lovelier. She liked to wear nice clothes, and liked that Roger liked her in them; this dress was quite special. Her sense of economy--bred into her by Mrs Howard, and latterly cultivated in living--meant that Roger knew nothing about the purchase, and wouldn't know until the time she had already chosen.

The familiar sound of the door meant that her Roger was already home; by her calculations, the evening meal was ready, or would be within three minutes. He greeted her; they settled down to talk; Gay did note a certain sheepish look in Roger's expressive eyes (she did adore a predictable husband).

"You don't have anything planned for Tuesday afternoon?" Gay shook her head. "Then I'll drive you to Will Drover for a flight--bring me back some starlight?"

Roger had saved Will's life, 'somewhere over France'; Gay liked him and his aircraft--Curtiss-Reid Rambler, able to travel more than a hundred and seventy miles per hour; she liked Will's talk about his pet's specifications, and Roger taking her for more than one trip with the professional. She would always love driving with him--he was her dear Roger, and it brought back memories of other drives, roads spiralling beneath them like smoke and the moon seeming to bless them.

"Joyriding is delightful--oh, Roger!" she said. It was just over a week before their wedding anniversary; Gay had picked out a lovely pocket-watch for him some time ago. "All the starlight you want--"

"Shall I brush it from you?" He touched her shoulder, but did not draw her close--only looked at her as he sometimes did, as though she was dearer than anything else in the world.

She spoke to him: "Roger, what was it like when you flew?"

"Joy," he said. "I took the controls alone, without an instructor--_you_ have some idea of it, Gay. I felt like I was riding a loud and oily comet." (Gay thought, briefly, the simile was apt.) "A shooting star. Then, of course, I went to France and used it to do the precise opposite of everything I'd hoped to accomplish in medicine." His voice had become much colder as he spoke.

Gay had been too young to know, then; not having words to answer him, she laid a hand on his arm.

"Will thinks I saved his life--there were two of 'em, one with red streamers hanging off it--Will was sinking, his copilot was hit, damage to the wings. I'd not been spotted--luck--and of course I deprived a few more mothers of their sons. I'm sorry--it isn't yours, Gay..."

She did understand--she hoped to understand. "You're mine--I wanted to talk. I thought that I understood before, and I think that I was right."

"I love to see you like this," he said. "To have what I lost in the war."

"When I only need..." Gay left the phrase unfinished; her conclusion was clear by the way she reached her arms about her husband's back.

--

She'd given dear Roger the watch in the morning, not willing to wait longer now it was the appropriate day--he had offered her dancing--and the golden dress had achieved its desired effect from the look in his eyes as he escorted his wife. He talked to her about his research, and she about her doings; they told each other nothing new, while delighting in conversation.

"Your suit is lovely," Gay complimented him--"I saw the woman in purple looking at you, darling." Nearly at the door, scents from the garden were reaching them; Gay bantered happily, not willing to end the night so soon. Roger snaked a gentle arm about her waist.

"She might think me an ungrateful husband for this fine watch--when I haven't done anything else," Roger said. Gay had already half-expected that the dance was not the only acknowledgement Roger had in mind, and flirted.

"Nothing else?--When you dance with the very best of those callow youths?" she said in assumed matronhood.

"For your anniversary, Gay, how does the prospect of regular lessons with Will suit you? I've talked it over with him, and..."

Gay had not expected that--riding with her husband's friend was one thing; learning quite another. "_Lessons_?"

"It's not impossible; you wouldn't be the first woman pilot. Will's able to help an old friend--and he thinks you _could_ learn it. Of course you're a woman in a thousand, Gay."

"Yes--Roger, this would be lovely!" They had climbed their own steps; near their own knocker now. Gay, very briefly, hoped that the neighbours were not looking; and kissed her husband on the cheek.

"You look like a golden rose tonight," he was saying softly, as they entered, closing the door behind them; one of the curtains blew slightly, night air entering the room. "Almost like you were on our wedding day...I felt I'd caught the moon in my hands."

Dear Roger; but Gay couldn't have possibly felt less like an astronomical body. They were too close to be distant stars, moon; Roger's radiant eyes (they _were_ beautiful; she entertained a definite hope regarding the design of those eyes), the affectionate, good-humoured twist to his mouth, the rebellious mop of hair all but begging to be stroked into place regardless of how many times the operation had already been performed--too close to be anything beyond Gay and Roger, doctor and wife of the Dark and Penhallow clan. "I've only the whole earth before me," she said--and kissed him between her words. "Flying over it--I've only been loving the ground better than ever meanwhile. The home we'll build the rest of our lives in; oh--Roger..."

Some time passed; Gay was tempted--very much tempted--into releasing another secret.

"Roger darling--someday I'd like our child to learn to fly..."

--


End file.
